


Mr & Mrs Redfox

by Akiko_Natsuko



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, Assassins & Hitmen, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Marital Issues, Marriage, Memories, Secrets, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 07:51:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17442884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: It had been a whirlwind romance, a happy marriage built on secrets and lies. With time the romance had faded, the marriage soured, but the secrets and lies remain and they might just be what will save them both. Mr & Mrs Smith AU.





	Mr & Mrs Redfox

   The house is small, nothing like their expansive townhouse back in Crocus, the outer walls crumbling slightly but still sturdy and covered in a curtain of ivy that makes it look quaint rather than rundown. Homely, more than their old pristine, show home had ever managed to be. Minerva had thought that she would hate it here, missing the rush of the city, the noise, the energy. Instead, she loved it. There was a different kind of energy here, not one of life and death and rushing around, but peaceful, welcoming. It was made better by the fact that each morning she woke with Gajeel’s arms around her, no bolster between them, no separate sides of the bed, and by the patter of little feet that would appear moments after she had woken, their daughter climbing into bed for cuddles and kisses. Her tiny family all in one place, safe, together…loved.

It was home.

And it might never have happened.

****

Three years earlier:

   The Therapist’s office was better than Minerva had expected, she’d imagined that it would either be sterile or clinic, or so clogged with evidence of marital bliss that she’d feel out of place. Instead, as she followed Gajeel inside, she was pleasantly surprised to find a light, airy room with blue walls and a wide window opening out onto the centre of Crocus. There were pictures on the walls, photos on the desk, but it was neutral, welcoming and for the first time since she had sat down in the waiting room she felt as though she could breathe. She could feel her husband’s gaze, and she glanced up, offering him a small smile and an approving nod. She would try. For a fleeting second his fingers brushed hers, and her heart leapt in her throat, only for disappointment to swell when the touch vanished a moment later, and she masked it by turning her attention to the marriage therapist.

   Makarov Dreyar. He was older than she had expected, and she could feel doubt creeping in, although the sight of the gold band on his finger was enough to stop her from saying anything. If he had made it a success, then the least she could do was listen. Not that she would admit as much, as they were here by accident as much as everything, although in the privacy of her own thoughts she couldn’t help but hope that being here would change things. Feeling the gulf that she usually tried to ignore, widening as she and Gajeel settled on their seats, leaning away from another and trying not to look at each other.

When had it become like this?

   She missed the times when they had always leant towards each other, always seeking the other out and her fingers itched, longing to reach out to Gajeel as Makarov studied them. There was no judgement in his expression, and yet she was abruptly assailed by the feeling of being under a telescope. _This was a bad idea..._ Apparently, Gajeel was feeling the same, tugging at his shirt before sitting up and plastering a smile on his face.

“I just want to say that we don’t really need to be here.” He was looking at her now, expectant, and she couldn’t help but think, don’t we? She didn’t say it though, smiling tersely and nodding as she focused on Makarov.

“It’s a funny story...” _The number of times I have suggested this, only to be rebutted..._

“We actually won these sessions,” Gajeel admitted, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck and glancing at her. “I got a little bit carried away at a Charity Auction at work.”

“He was competing with one of our neighbours,” Minerva took over, remembering her irritation when he had rung her to tell her what had happened. “It escalated.” If the Dragneels hadn’t been involved he would probably have stopped, and they wouldn’t be here, but it didn’t seem to matter what they were doing, he had to make it a point to compete with Natsu.

“I’d had a bit to drink.” _A lot_ …

“And ended up spending four hundred jewels on mystery prize,” Minerva couldn’t keep the bite out of her voice, although she softened her expression and tone when she turned back to Makarov who was watching their interaction intently. “Which was four sessions with yourself.”

“Our neighbours have a great sense of humour,” Gajeel laughed, and Minerva followed, wanting to provide a united front. Wanting to prove they weren’t moving apart. Whether it had been a joke or not, she was relieved, even if that relief was buried beneath embarrassment at the moment.

“I see.” Makarov murmured, and Minerva had a feeling that he saw a lot more than they wanted him to, confirmed by the way he leant forward a moment later, holding their gazes, stopping them from escaping. “Yet you are here when you didn’t need to come?”

“I...”

“You could’ve handed the prize to someone else or just declined to use them.”

   They glanced at each other and Minerva could see that Gajeel had been caught by surprise by the direct challenge to their presence, and she hesitated, wanting to see if he would reply but wanting to spare them both more embarrassment. Seeing that he wasn’t going to answer she sighed, folding her hands in her lap, trying to look composed.

“We thought that it might be worth doing an M.O.T as it was,” she explained, smiling, silently begging Makarov to play along. It was an argument she had used before to get Gajeel interested, but it was only when these sessions had come along that he had finally listened, wanting an excuse for coming rather than admitting that they needed it. “Just checking that everything is still working.”

“See we’ve been married for five years...”

“Six.” _How could he forget?_ Minerva bit her lip, hurt despite herself, remembering that day more vividly than she had in a while, as though the threat of Gajeel forgetting it had brought it to life once more.

“Five, six.... either way, we’ve been married for a while,” Gajeel waved his hand, but there was a hint of colour in his cheeks that told her he had been caught out by her correction. “We thought that’s long enough for a few things to need replacing, change the oil so to speak. Nothing’s broken, just needs a little bit of work.”

“Fine.” Makarov looked a little doubtful, and there was a knowing glint in his eyes as his gaze settled on Minerva and it took every ounce of her training not to squirm. “Well before we have a look under the hood.” Now she wanted to laugh, able to tell that he was uncomfortable with the analogy but playing along. “Let’s get an overall view of how things are.”

“They’re great...”

“Let’s measure it,” Makarov was gentle with his interruption, but it was clear he was taking control and Gajeel settled back with a grumble. “On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you as a couple?” _Are you still happy?_ Yukino had asked that the last time they had gone for a drink, for once banishing all talk about work and instead forcing Minerva to talk about what was happening at home, she hadn’t been able to lie to her, although she had hedged. But now...

“Eight.” _Don’t make me tell the truth._

“How is this being measured?” Gajeel demanded, eyes narrowed, and Minerva sighed, he had always been like this. Needing the numbers and figures, even when he had an overwhelming tendency to rush in on other occasions. He blamed it on his work ‘I need to know everything is correct’, she called it being awkward. “Is ten supposed to be complete happiness? Because that’s kind of unrealistic, no one is that happy.” _We were,_ Minerva thought, remembering those first weeks, the dates, the affection, the whirlwind. “And one utterly miserable? Because we wouldn’t be here if that was the case, we’d be in divorce court.”

“Just go with what your gut tells you.”

   Gajeel glanced at her, an arched eyebrow asking if she was ready and she nodded, fingers twisting in her lap.

“Eight.”

“Eight.”

“Good,” Makarov nodded, not calling them on their coordination, instead writing something on the notepad that she had only just noticed lying in front of him. Curiosity burned, what was he writing? What did he see when he looked at them? “Let’s look at this a different way, how happy would you say that your partner is.”

“Eight.”

“Are we allowed fractions? Percentages?” Minerva asked, stalling, glancing at Gajeel out of the corner of her eyes. He had been so quick with his answer, but was he that sure? Did he realise how much distance had spread between them?

“You’re over thinking it,” Makarov replied, at the same time as Gajeel muttered.

“Go with your gut.”

“Fine,” this time she was the one to look at Gajeel, waiting for him to take a breath before they both stated in perfect unison.

“Eight.” Makarov looked unsurprised, scribbling a note before setting down his pen and leaning back in his chair. “How often do you have sex?”

   It was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room, both tensing and looking at anywhere but him or each other. Minerva was the first to break the silence, hoping that she had misheard, but knowing that she hadn’t.

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Yeah, is this still on the same scale of one to ten?” Gajeel asked, and for a moment Minerva was amused by the fact that they were both trying to avoid this question, working together for the first time in ages. “One...or should that be zero, being not at all? And ten, every hour?

“This isn’t on a scale.” There was a trace of exasperation in Makarov’s voice this time, but it was gone a moment later, the same warm smile still in place. “It’s just a straightforward question, how often do you have sex?”

    The silence stretched on, neither of them willing to take the plunger and answer, Minerva’s thoughts on their bed at home and the invisible line that had been drawn down the middle, Gajeel fiddling with a button on his sleeve. In the Makarov was the first to admit defeat, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll come back to that later. Why don’t you describe to me how you first met?”

    That was a question that she could answer, and this time her smile was more genuine as she shifted into a more comfortable position.

“It was here in Fiore.”

“Hargeon. Five years ago.”

“Six.” Minerva corrected, ignoring the grumble and glare she received, determined that he should remember.

“Yes, five or six years ago.”

**

   _Hargeon had been a peaceful coastal town at one point, but with the arrival of Bora and his people trafficking ring it had become less so and the efforts of the local authorities and military to bring him down had led to fighting on the streets. Buildings were destroyed in raids and firefights, the locals scurried from one place to another, and yet amid this life continued._

_Gajeel frowned glancing up from where he’d been studying his drink as he heard a commotion outside, turning in his seat and tensing as he saw the police gathering in the reception of the hotel that he had been using as his base for the last few days. Trying not to move too quickly, keen not to arouse suspicion he turned to look at the barkeeper. “What’s going on?” There was always something going on, but this was the first time it had posed a threat to him, and he had to fight to stop his fingers from inching towards his concealed gun._

_“Someone killed the Prominence.”_

_“Bora?” Gajeel demanded, silently cursing the thought that someone had beaten him to his mark, although impressed that it had been done._

_“Yes.” The relief was plain to hear, but the barkeeper didn’t dwell on it as he continued. “It was a nasty kill. The police are looking for solo travellers.” Gajeel could see the exact moment the suspicion formed, a glance towards the reception showing that he wasn’t the only growing suspicious as a couple of the officers was beginning to head in his direction. “Are you with anyone?” Gajeel was just searching for a lie when a distraction arrived, the bar doors that lead onto the street swinging open as a woman stepped inside, and for a split second, he forgot everything. Framed by the bright light from outside, she was a vision, then dark eyes met his as she lifted her head and glanced around, and in a second she was heading towards him only to be intercepted by the same Police officers that had been heading towards him._

_“Are you two together?” She was still looking at him, and Gajeel pushed himself away from the bar, moving to meet her as they both nodded in unison. At once the officers’ expressions cleared and they had moved on by the time he had reached her side, but he wasn’t going to risk it, offering her a hand, relieved when she took it with only a slight glance, letting him guide her out of the bar._

_They ended up in her room, slipping inside just as the Police break into a neighbouring room, hastily closing the door behind them and leaning against them, not that it would stop the Police if they were determined to get inside. Outside there are shouts and screams, sirens blaring and down the corridor, they can hear frantic footsteps and voices raised in objection, but it seems to bypass them, and after a few minutes they sag against the door and each other. It’s the feel of a warm body pressed against his that makes Gajeel realise just how close they are, looking down to find her peering up at him, lips quirked in a small smile, heat in her eyes. It’s ridiculous. It’s a ruse for both, and yet he feels himself leaning closer as he holds out his hand again._

_“Gajeel.” Her hand is small but strong as she takes his, her voice soft, husky almost._

_“Minerva.”_

**

_It’s evening by the time they venture out again, walking hand and hand down a side-alley, keen to avoid the chaos on the main streets. “Bora has been terrorising this town and region for years, but I have a feeling they’re going to blame his death on locals holding a vendetta against him. However, my money would be on a professional hit as the authorities have been after him for the last few years and thwarted at every turn.” Gajeel doubted very much that they would have got their act together to carry out the hit though, it was why he had been hired...and why whoever had got his mark had probably been employed to clean up the mess._

_“You seem well informed?” Minerva glanced at him, assessing and suspicious and Gajeel cursed, not wanting those questions aimed at him, offering her a grin._

_“I read the Fiore Times.” She seems to accept his words, letting him guide her down another alley and into a heaving basement bar, where despite the early hour locals are already on the dance floor, writhing against each other, drinking, laughing. No doubt celebrating recent events, even if things aren’t going to change for a while._

_“It seems like I was lucky,” Minerva comments as they search for a booth. “I was right out in the street where it happened, I thought I was going to get caught up in it.” She doesn’t look frightened, just wary, worried and Gajeel squeezes the hand that’s still entwined with his, pulling her close and smiling._

_“Believe me, I’m the lucky one.”_

_It’s not long before they’re holed up in a bar, glasses scattered across the table in front of them and both now nursing a shot of tequila. Gajeel is the first to raise his glass, never looking away from Minerva, admiring the way the lights from the dance floor play against ebony hair, her eyes bright and focused despite how much they’ve had already._

_“To dodging bullets...”_

_“To dodging bullets,” she echoes without hesitation, holding his gaze as they lick the salt and down the shots, pulling matching faces before they bite into the lime, laughing as they set the glasses down again._

_Gajeel isn’t typically one for dancing, but with the alcohol warming him and Minerva’s eyes on him he can’t resist, rising and offering her a hand. There’s no hesitation now, her hand fitting perfectly into his, and his other has slipped to the small of her back before they even reach the dance floor, slipping in amongst the other revellers, pressing against one another, unable to get enough of the other._

_**_

_It’s both surprising and unsurprising when they end up back in her room, twisted together until it feels as though they’re one, breathing heavily, hearts racing. Gajeel can’t remember the last time he felt like this, maybe he never had, lacing their fingers together as he rested his head against her chest, listening to her heart racing as she came down from her high. He must’ve said something about it, because a moment later there were fingers threaded through his hair, tugging him into another heated kiss._

_“I don’t want it to slow down.” She meant more than her heart, he could hear it, see it in her expression as he studied her and his expression softened, lifting a hand to brush against one flushed cheek._

_“I won’t let it.”_

_“Promise?” It was a dangerous promise to make, especially when they were strangers and considering his line of work, but he never hesitated._

_“Promise.”_

_**_

_Six weeks later._

_It was a promise they had kept. Flying home together, thrilled to discover they were both based in Crocus and the next few weeks were a whirlwind of dates and heated nights together. Work was rarely spoken of, nor their unusual meeting in Hargeon._

_Instead, they focused on the now and on each other. They went to the fair, where Minerva had discovered that Gajeel was a good shot and taken great pleasure in proving that she was better, using the excuse that her father had taught her, joking that it was to keep away unwanted suitors. It had transpired that was not such a joke, as her father had been less than happy with her whirlwind relationship, especially when barely six weeks after meeting Gajeel had got down on one knee and proposed. Her colleagues had warned her to be careful when they heard the news, Gajeel’s best friend and eventually Best Woman Juvia had been distant when they met, but her father… She had thought that it was going to come to blows and that Gajeel would come off worse, but he had stood tall and proud between them and refused to back down. In the end, her father had stormed off, refusing to come to the wedding and telling her not to come home._

_She hadn’t needed to._

_Two weeks after that drama, with the somewhat cautious blessing of their workmates, they had married. A simple ceremony, but that had been all they had needed. The kiss had lingered too long, been too passionate, hands straying. Their guests had laughed and joked that they would burn out too soon, but both Minerva and Gajeel had brushed off the warnings._

_Maybe they shouldn’t have._

****

   Minerva sighed as she rolled onto her back, reaching out to turn off the alarm. She had been awake long before it went off, roused by Gajeel rolling out of bed to get his morning coffee and collect the newspaper, leaving without so much as a peck on the cheek. As always. The temptation to roll over and pretend that the world didn’t exist was overwhelming, but she could hear him in the bathroom now, so after a moment she rolled out of bed and meandered through.

   Gajeel was already stood in front of his sink, and she paused for a moment, remembering when they had first married, and they had fallen over one another to use the same sink, missing it. She didn’t say anything, not with the previous day's therapy session still playing through her mind; instead stepping across to her own sink and reaching for her toothbrush. However, she found herself unable to leave the silence lingering between them, glancing at him as she asked quietly.

“So, what did you think about Dr Dreyar?”

“He seemed nice enough,” Gajeel mumbled, words garbled around his toothbrush, a frown darkening his expression. “I didn’t think much about his questions.”

“They were a little…”

“…wishy washy?” Minerva finished for him, and he nodded, showing no reaction to the fact that it was the first time in ages that they had finished each other’s sentences. It had happened a lot at the beginning, but now, even as they were able to feign the image of happily married couple around their neighbours, they couldn’t feign that kind of closeness. “His office is on the other side of town.” Even as the words slipped out, she cursed herself, knowing that she was offering him an out…offering them an out, an escape from something that as much as neither of them wanted to admit it, they did need.

“The timing isn’t great,” Gajeel spat out his mouthful of toothpaste, seizing on the opening she had given him. “I’d have to cut my last meeting short, and it’s the start of rush-hour.” Excuses. She could see in his expression that he knew exactly what he was doing, what they were doing, shame and guilt hidden beneath the blank expression they tended to wear around one another these days. _Too late_ , she thought bitterly, masking it with a small, empty smile.

“That’s settled then, we’ll cancel.”

   That was the end of their conversation for the morning, barely remembering to murmur goodbye to one another when they passed in the hallway a few minutes later, not touching, not even a peck on the cheek as they grabbed their coats and suitcases and left without a backwards glance.

   Their days pass like that now. Separate lives. Barely talking, barely touching in the mornings. Days spent buried in their work, no little texts or lunchtime calls just to hear the other's voice.

**

   Evenings are different. Dinner is at seven. It’s been the rule as long as they’ve been married, the one touch of normality they had both agreed upon when they had realised how often they were called away on work, wanting to make the most of their time together. Now, it’s a habit more than anything, strangers eating together, but neither of them wants to break the tradition.

   Minerva is already putting the finishing touches to dinner when she hears the rumble of Gajeel’s car in the driveway, the light going on outside and she moves to the window, remembering the days when she had waited for this moment, always greeting him at the doorstep with a warm smile and a lingering kiss. Now she forces a smile, waving as he spies her through the window and he returns the gesture, but as soon as he pulls into the garage and out of sight, the smile slowly slips from her face. It’s not the same. It’s habit, not desire, that has her sliding the starter onto a plate and moving to the back door to greet him when she hears the crunch of his feet on the gravel.

“Just on time.” She’s waiting for the day when he’ll be late without an excuse, but it’s not today so she smiles again and leans up to accept the cursory kiss he gives her cheek, longing for the heated kisses he used to give, the ones that would make their guests cough awkwardly and warm her inside.

“As always.”

   They move through to the dining room, sitting at opposite ends of the table when once they had sat next to each other, playfully stealing each other’s food and feeding one another. Conversation is stilted, polite niceties. _How was your day? Business is slow, yours? A Client was causing a scene, but it transpired he was the one that screwed up._ Minerva is the first to give up, missing the days of easy chatter, planning their next week together so they can maximise their time together outside of work, talking about dates, joking about the neighbours. The silence gnaws at her. They finish eating in silence, without even the token compliments that Gajeel usually gives her ‘cooking’ and its sheer desperation that makes her try again when Gajeel rises, muttering about needing to tidy up the tool shed and see to the garden. Leaving her alone.

“I got our Christmas tree.” It was just another dressing, another way of pretending that everything was fine, her smile empty as she added. “It’s the biggest one on the street.” She can see that her words haven’t reached him, the nod is empty, and he’s already moving, heading for the back door. Heading away from her, and she bows her head, fingers trembling as she fusses with the table cloth for a moment.

_It’s not enough._

*

   Gajeel sighed with relief as the door closed behind him, jaw aching from the feigned smile, fiddling with the ring that feels foreign on his finger after a day without it. He’s tempted to take it off again, but when he glances back he can see Minerva moving around in the kitchen he buries the urge, instead heading for the sanctuary of his tool shed. It’s the one place that has always been his, the one place untouched by the distance that has sprung up between them, and it feels like he can breathe freely for the first time since he came home when he steps inside.

*

   Minerva had hoped that he would return to help her decorate the tree, but she’d known that it was wishful thinking when she had heard the clangs and bangs from the tool shed. So, she had started on her own, rooting out the boxes marked as Christmas decoration and carrying them through to the living room. Everything inside is nearly packed, almost clinical in their precision and she falters, fingers lingering against the oldest bauble, a glittering image of Hargeon that Gajeel had gone back to buy for their first Christmas together. Now, it was stored with luxury baubles that held no sentimental value, designed to look good and nothing else.

   It’s still the first one she puts on the tree. Call her sentimental, but she can’t let go just yet, her fingers trembling as she places it just so. The rest go on much quicker, her hands moving fast, darting out to place them, agile and graceful all at once, a dance that she’s never let Gajeel see, remembering how long it had taken them to decorate that first year, knocking the baubles off, wrapping the tinsel around one another. Now, it appears she’s barely blinked before the baubles are all on the tree and she’s reaching down to retrieve the lights, checking them with sharp eyes, before glancing warily towards the window, checking the lights are still on in the shed. Satisfied that she’s safe she brandishes the lights like a whip, the movement perfectly timed as they wrap around the tree, snapping perfectly into place without disturbing the other directions.

   Last is the star that Yukino had given her years ago, and she scowled as she eyed the top of the tree towering above her. In the past, she would just have asked her husband to lift her up, elbowing him when he complained about it. That was no longer an option, so she fetched a chair, cursing under her breath when she realised that even with that boost she was still too short, hesitating for a moment before she steps onto the arms and leans, the chair tilting onto two legs as she reaches onto tiptoes. She drops the star on top, eyes widening in alarm as she hears the door opening behind her, and in an instant, she is back on the floor and turning to greet him with another empty smile.

“Perfect timing.” Smoothly, as though she hadn’t just nearly been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been doing she moved and hit the switch, the tree coming to life, glowing warm and golden and making the room seem warm and welcoming. It hurts her to think that if anyone were looking in right now, then they would see what looked like a perfect household, Gajeel standing close enough that anyone else would mistake them for a united couple.

_Another lie._

****

   Their days progress like that, two strangers living together. Empty smiles, emptier conversations, little moments of pettiness. Minerva refusing to pass the salt because it’s in the middle of the table, Gajeel working on one of his tools in the dining room when Minerva is trying to work on a report. Neither of them mentions Dr Dreyar again, and both go to extreme lengths to hide the fact that they have both gone back, alone, multiple times to see him.

**

   The only break in the mundane comes one night at the end of another terse dinner, the shrill ring of the phone breaking the weak attempt at a conversation and they both look at it hopefully. Line two is flashing, and Minerva sighs as Gajeel is immediately on his feet, muttering about work and removing himself to the den to take it. She’s relieved, the conversation had been grating on her, but her fingers tap against the plate as she finishes eating alone, wanting, needing something to take her mind off everything. As if in answer to her prayers the phone rings again, her breath catching as she looks to it, hope and excitement flooding her, followed by relief when she spies Line three flashing for attention. Finally. Dinner forgotten she rises quickly, each movement smooth, perfectly judged and she pauses only long enough to call to Gajeel that she’ll be upstairs taking a call, not even waiting for a reply.

   Their bedroom that always seems so cold and empty these days seems warm once more as she closes the door behind her, moving to where her laptop sits on the dresser and bringing it to life. There’s a message waiting for her.

**_The Scholar wants company. The Grand Crocus Hotel. Penthouse Suite._ **

   It shouldn’t excite her as much as it does, her fingers dancing over the keyboard as she replied, mind already darting over what she knows about the target, what equipment she needs. Feeling alive as she hasn’t in a while, glancing briefly at the clock.

**Be there in 45. I want gifts.**

**_Red Roses?_ **

**Three dozen, long stem.** There had been a time when she would frequently come home to red roses from Gajeel, nowadays it was a miracle if she got them on their anniversary, and then they were soured by the knowledge that they were only for appearance's sake. Despite those thoughts, the smile on her lips is genuine as she studies at the screen waiting for an acknowledgement before it comes there is a loud creak from behind her, and she gently closes the computer even as she turns to find Gajeel hovering in the doorway. “You startled me.” Lightly scolding, nothing to show the flicker of panic at the thought of him seeing what she had been doing.

“Sorry.” Gajeel looks more at ease than she’s seen him in a while, empty eyes bright and focused, and she understands why a moment later. “I’ve got bad news, it looks like I’m needed in the city.” Of course, he was happiest when work called. Tonight, though she couldn’t bring herself to mind, her own appointment at the fore of her mind and she smiled up at him.

“Not a problem, it seems one of our girls has just caused a server to crash. Yukino says it chaos, so I should probably head in too.”

   He nods, barely listening as he pulls his coat on, already half out of the door. Minerva changes swiftly, listening to him moving around, hiding her outfit beneath a jacket, looking strictly professional as she joins him the downstairs hall. They prepare together, leave together, just as polite and distant as always, but with a thread of something different in the air between them, and their farewell smiles are warmer for it, even when Minerva remembers to lean out of the window

to shout to him. “Remember we need to be back for nine, we promised the Dragneels we’d be there.” She hears him grumbling as she drives away.

**

   The Grand Crocus Hotel is just as luxurious as she remembers it, and Minerva glances down, makes sure she looks the part. Sheer coat, just bordering the edge of professional, legs uncovered, high heels, smart bag. Smiling at the doorman she steps inside, head held high, the empty, suburban wife that had served dinner that night nowhere to be seen. She gets more than one-second look as she glides across to the lift and steps inside, but not one of them is suspicious. Hungry, yes. Wary, no. It’s their mistake. She makes it to the Penthouse suite before she’s challenged, a huge towering man with distinctive green hair and tattoos letting her in, behind him she can see other men, armed to the teeth and lounging around watching television and playing poker. They’re unfazed by her arrival. However, the man that greets her is wary.

“What’s in the bag?” Minerva smiles at him, willingly opening the bag, privately wondering what Gajeel would make of the whip, ropes and furry handcuffs in the bag. Part of her is tempted to find out, and she keeps that image in her mind as she’s frisked. “Make this quick, we have a train to catch.” She nods, biting the inside of the cheek as she thinks that this will be quicker than any of them think, obediently following as he shows her to the bedroom.

   The room makes the rest of the hotel look drab in comparison, but she pays it no mind, instead studying the man who has just stepped out of the bedroom wrapped in a robe. The face which had been masked in most of the surveillance shots she had was uncovered, revealing a handsome young man, green eyes greedily raking over her.

“You must be Minerva.” His voice is soft, soothing as it wraps around her. “The roses are for you,” he gestures towards a chair that she hadn’t noticed, and sure enough there are three dozen red roses, long stem, and she smiles, even as in her mind it is Gajeel that had given her them.

“Thank you, that’s sweet of you.”

“Would you like a glass of champagne?” Rufus asked, and she nodded, allowing him to take her hand and pull her across to the bed. His gaze never leaving her, lingering on her exposed legs as he pours her a glass of champagne, hungrily watching as she sips it, deliberately taking her time, winding him up, lowering his guard before finally she sets her glass aside.

“So, what would you like to do?” He leans forward, breath warm against her ear as he whispers and Minerva laughs before reaching for her bag, holding his gaze this time as she opens it, removing the rope and dangling it in front of him. “Is this what you want?” He laughs and nods, and she smiles. Perfect. Rising in one fluid moment, she slowly unbuttons her coat, letting it slump to the floor revealing the black lace underwear she’s wearing that leaves very little to the imagination.

**

    Gajeel knocks back another scotch, laughing loudly as his companions egg him on. They thought they had him, and the two thousand jewels he’d brought along to the poker game in the palm of their hand, the alcohol on his breath and the unsteadiness he had feigned on arrival drawing them in. They missed the way his eyes noted where their weapons were, what hands they had, the way they faltered on a bad hand. He could have won at least five of the eight rounds they’d played so far, but that wasn’t the point of this, so ignoring the cards in his hand, he sighed dramatically. “I fold…. call…no fold.” He trailed off, mumbling under his breath before nodding decisively. “I fold. I’ll win the next one.” Their laughter is mocking, and he sees them relaxing further, confident in their security and he knows that the next round will be the one he wins.

   He drinks again, laughing loudly, trying not to think about Minerva at work, trusting him to be at work. It leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth, but as strong as it once had and he sighs, this time drinking for more than appearances. However, as the next round starts, he banishes all thought of her, dumping more and more money into the middle, reeling them in. It’s the final hand when he ups the ante.

“All in,” he declares dumping a grenade in the middle and yanking out the pin. That silence that follows is almost comical as he sees the realisation dawning, and the second they move to react, he responds, the steel knives he was known for flying through the air, deadly and true. It barely lasts a few seconds, and they’re dead. He reclaims his money, takes another mouthful of scotch, before stealing a coat and heading back into the bar they had been hiding before, slipping amongst the revellers, and trying not to think about another bar, years ago, with Minerva pressed against him.

It's time to go home.

**

   Minerva has Rufus trussed up and on his knees in front of her, whip trailing lightly over his shoulders, playing the part. “You’ve been a bad boy.” He’s nodding vigorously, long hair whipping from side to side and she yanks on it less than gently. “You’re going to be punished.”

“Yes…”

“I’m going to punish you,” she cracks the whip, not enough to hurt…too much. A warning that has him arching and crying out. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been very bad.” The whip cracks again, and this time she runs a finger along the mark that she’s left, making him flinch before he remembers and leans into the pain.

“I’m very angry with you.” She cracks it again, harder this time, and he’s hissing and pleading all in one, and she lets her voice soften, leaning in to make sure that he can’t miss her next words. “And the Council is very angry with you.”

“Yes. Yes.” He’s so far gone that it takes a moment for her words, and the implications to sink in and her lips quirk as he jerks against the rope, straining to look at her, the hungry, confident expression replaced by panic. “What?” It’s an expression she’s seen hundreds of times, in countless different forms and for a second she savours the rush, the control that seems to be missing in her married life, but then she sees his mouth opening and knows he’s about to cry for help.

   She doesn’t give him a chance, moving with practised ease, planting her knee in the small of his back. In a move that she had first learnt on the animals on her father’s ranch, she twists, sharp and unhesitating and his neck cracks. There is no regret when she steps back to study him, eyes searching for any hint of life, but he’s gone, head lying at an odd angle against his chest. With steady hands, she unties him and lugs him across to the bed, carefully arranging him under the covers, wondering what Gajeel would make of this side of her. It’s not the first time she’s wondered or the first time she’s considered breaking her silence to tell him, wondering if banishing that secret would fix things. She knows she won’t, and not just because it would be against the rules.

   Rufus’s frightened expression flashes through her mind, but slowly its replaced by Gajeel’s, horror and revulsion in his eyes as he backs away from her. She’ll never admit it aloud, not even to Yukino who knows more about her than anyone else in the world, but she’s frightened. Frightened that Gajeel will make her regret this part of her life, this part of herself… that this one thing that makes her feel alive these days will be the very thing that drives him away. That…

   A knock on the door has her tensing, she had got distracted, allowed herself to forget that they were on a time limit. Banishing Gajeel from her thoughts she lunges for her coat, yanking it on and buttoning it up, returning her supplies to the bag and reaching the door just as the handle turns and the man that had searched her peered inside.

“Mr Lore is asleep,” she murmurs, placing a finger to her lips as he opens his mouth to question her, flashing him a smile. “I’m afraid I wore him out.” It’s worked in the past, but this time she finds herself being nudged aside, the man heading for the bed and she curses under her breath, checking outside the door and realising that the others are between her and the exit. All he needs to do is shout, and she’ll be caught. She doesn’t panic, flashing them a flirty wink as she closes the door and turns to survey the room, searching for an alternative exit.

“Mr Lore? Mr Lore?” The man is shaking the still figure on the bed, and she can tell the moment he realises what has happened because tension ripples through him and he goes for his gun. She’s faster. Retrieving the whip, she cracks it, knocking the gun from his hand and immediately diving for it, the whip lashing out again to catch his ankle, sending him crashing to the ground. She can hear the voices in the other room falter just as her fingers close on the gun, and she knows that there will be no hiding this. It doesn’t stop her as she takes aim as the bodyguard lunges at her, no doubt intending to use his size against her. The shot takes him between the eyes, a perfect hit, and he crumples to a chorus of alarmed shouts from outside.

   Minerva is already moving when the storm of bullets come through the walls, and she’s on the balcony when they crash through the door behind her, shouts of dismay and anger greeting the two bodies that await them. She doesn’t wait. Unhooking one of the metal handles from her bag and clipping it to the railing, sparing a quick glance down to the street far below before diving off, for once glad that her father had forced her to confront her childhood fear of heights a long time ago, even if she had hated him for it at the time.

   The floor rushes up to meet her, and at the perfect distance, she releases the grapple, letting it shoot upwards once more now that her weight is gone and landing neatly at the base of the Hotel steps. As always it amuses her how unobservant the public are, as she straightens her coat and steps to the pavement where a doorman is waiting, holding the door to a taxi open for her. She smiles, thanking him with a generous tip and steps inside, just another person in Crocus once more, and as the taxi pulls away, she feels the rush fading, the smile slipping from her face.

It’s time to go home.


End file.
